


Considering the Options

by niawen



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB Apprentice, Cunnilingus, Explicit Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Other, POV First Person, Pegging, Strap-Ons, apprentice has a vagina but otherwise it's pretty gender neutral wording
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25763101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niawen/pseuds/niawen
Summary: AFAB Apprentice fucks Muriel with a strap-on.  Muriel's still new to intimacy but the Apprentice is always willing to explore new ways to experience that.  No dom/sub tones just two people talking this noise out and then going to town.  Now with bonus chapter.
Relationships: Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have written some shit in my day but there are some things here out of my normal wheelhouse. Also first person POV is literal hell so please enjoy it! Thanks as always for all the kudos + comments.

“So…” I begin, very late one evening as Muriel comes back in with the blankets he’d forgotten on the clothesline. He raises his brow in question but doesn’t verbally prompt more, tossing the clean bedclothes back on the massive mattress in the corner of the hut. “I want to try something with you. If you’re… agreeable.”

I can see it in his face that I’ve piqued his curiosity and he sits down on the bed, pulling one foot up on his knee with a kind of easy grace. He leans back casually and I stand from my seat at the table, where I’d been reading distractedly for the last while.

“What is it,” Muriel asks after a second, only mildly suspicious as I come closer. He tugs off his boots and uncrosses his legs as I approach, shrugging off his cloak and I can tell he’s not planning on leaving the hut again tonight. He leans in as I come in closely and I can’t help but smile a little shyly at his soft mannerisms. He’s surprisingly tactile, I think, as he reaches out for me and rests both his hands on my hips, pulling me in until I’m standing between his knees.

Maybe it's not surprising though. A lifetime of pain and trauma deprived him of basically all healthy contact, he’s only just now experiencing closeness and intimacy in whatever quantity he wants. And, I remind myself, it had taken months of constant reassurance to break through his walls even with the looming possibility of our deaths hanging over our heads. Muriel might never be someone to trust easily or someone who lets themselves be vulnerable but as long as he’s satisfied with me, with us, I guess I can live with that.

I smile a little but I can’t help the color rising in my cheeks. For all my talk about trust and vulnerability I still find my desires pretty difficult to vocalize- I’m decidedly lacking in experience and it can be tremendously awkward trying to navigate that. His shyness is actually reassuring, even if my overactive imagination never seems to run out of kinky ideas when I’ve got a muse that looks like that. But damn it all, color’s rising in my face at the thought and when I look at him again he’s studying me intently, which only makes me flush more.

Muriel wants to look entertained by the redness to my cheeks but I can tell the uncertainty is holding him back. “What,” he asks again, the succinctness to his words not unkind at all. (Now that I know what I’m listening for).

“It’s not a big deal, don’t look so serious,” I say with a slightly dismissive wave of my hand. “I was thinking about last night-”

Ah. Now he’s red. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. Good, this will save time. Getting fucked across the table yesterday evening had done a number on my imagination for most of the day and had inspired a particularly stubborn idea... and I figured I’d never know what he thought about it unless I asked. That didn’t mean my face wasn’t beet red, unfortunately.

“It’s just… I wanna fuck you. One of these days.” His face is redder than mine now and his eyes are comically wide before he averts them quickly. “I think it's obvious that I like it… maybe you’d like it, too.”

His mouth works for a second, closes, then he tries again several more times before he can choke out anything salient. “W-what, like… you on top? I _do_ like that…” he mutters finally, his voice deep but quiet. His eyes watch me carefully through a few swatches of dark, unruly hair and I have to appreciate that he hasn’t decided to escape the conversation altogether.

I purse my lips, thinking of the best way to say what I want. He doesn’t really make it easy. “I mean like me on top and then… me inside of you.”

“O-oh.” he fumbles, and then his mouth snaps shut. He’s watching me through some of his hair and I take the fact that his eyes aren’t darting to the window or door a good sign. After a second of us both being incredibly awkward, he manages a tentative look as though he’s actually considering it. “How…?”

I wave my hand casually again, trying to will the embarrassment away with the false confidence I’m desperately trying to instill into my tone. I feel like there’s a need to keep this conversation noncommittal and give him a friendly way out if he isn’t into the idea…. If I'm all weird about it, it's guaranteed to put him on edge. I could accidentally put pressure on him and I don’t want that.. “There’s a spell I can use. It won’t be the real thing but I don’t think that’ll make a huge difference on your side.”

He seems to consider that, even as his face is still flaming. A look passes over him for a second and he suddenly looks slightly dubious. “Where’d you learn something like that?”

“Magicians get up to all kinds of stuff apparently,” I manage with a dismissive shrug. “It's actually a super basic spell that I just never really thought to apply this way before.” Holy hells this is the most awkward conversation we’ve had in a good while. I think I’m going to have to dunk my head in the rain barrel outside the second I’m able to. “I could go buy one but homemade’s usually cheaper than store bought…” I vaguely hope a void will suddenly open up beneath my feet to keep me from talking more..

He considers this for a few more seconds. “And you want… to use it… You want to use to fuck me.” He didn’t really phrase it like a question and while his uncomprehending expression was endearing, I was also still excruciatingly embarrassed.

“Yeah.” Then, after another long moment: “but you totally don’t have to. It’s not a big deal.”

He bites his lip thoughtfully and I’m distracted by how attractive the small gesture is (apparently my ability to focus needs work). It takes him a second while the blushing intensifies and he struggles to spit the words out before he can succumb. “Yeah, we could…” He looks anywhere but my face. “We could try it. I’m not… really experienced...”

Relieved and somehow feeling incredibly warm, I brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “Well, I’ve never practiced this particular spell like this and I’ve never… topped quite like that before so we’ll both be in new territory. But…” I hesitate and my hand slides into his hair in a gesture that is hopefully gentle and encouraging- I want him to know that his comfort is my top priority. Creative sex is fun and all but it was a lot of work to get him to even this point. And while the idea of fucking Muriel is outrageously hot it was tempered with a healthy dose of reality.

He grunts suddenly- a pensive noise- and straightens up out of my grasp to look up at me. “How are you gonna get off, though?”

I laugh, I can’t help it. “Not to be uncouth but the sight of you on your face for me is probably going to get me there real quick.”

His redness only intensifies and he looks away, though he’s definitely smiling shyly at the far wall when I pull back to take a look after a second, and he tries to clear it from his face as quick as he can. It takes a second before he clears his throat. “There’s two things though,” he says finally, looking back to me despite his obvious embarrassment.

I nod at him encouragingly, wanting him to feel safe enough to speak his mind, even if he denies me. “What do you need to cast the spell?” he asks, watching my face intently.

I pull my hands from his thick hair gently. “Nothing, there’s no components. I can cast it whenever.”

He grunts in satisfaction. “Okay. Do it now.”

I jerk where I stand, completely taken off guard, then I sputter aimlessly for a good long moment. “ _Now?_ But… I thought…”

He pulls a somewhat exasperated expression, watching me with something dangerously close to a pout. “You think I can just go about my business after hearing you say all of that? I’m already....” he falters, unsure, then gestures vaguely at his lap where I can plainly see that he is indeed about half hard already.

I try to take a calming breath, but it’s difficult. He’s enthusiastically up for attempting this and even if he turns out not to like it later I can’t deny that my pulse is roaring in my ears at the thought.

He scratches his jaw absently for a second, thinking. “The second thing…” he finally ventures, “I want you to get off too-”

“I’m gonna,” I assure him confidently, almost cutting him off in my haste to answer.

He makes a slightly irritable gesture, waving his hand at my comically honest enthusiasm. “I should… I _want_ ,” he corrects, “to do something for you, too. It’s… less fun if one person does all the work.”

For a second, I can only smile a little. I can’t say that we’ve been doing this all that long but Muriel’s desire to please combined with his drive to share everything equally with me both makes me melt a little and sets my nervous system tingling. He’s attentive in bed, even if he’s shy and easy to embarrass. To my immense surprise he reaches out to grab me gently by the wrists, pulling me in to stand closer to him, our bodies almost pressed together and his face set just above my chest.

“I have something in mind,” he says and his voice is a low vibration that rumbles up from his muscular chest. There’s nothing uncertain in it just then either, a note of self-assuredness that’s sometimes rare for him. I know he likes when I lead but I have experience with that tone of voice and I can feel heat pooling between my legs at a rapid pace. I try not to pant and go where he tugs me. “Tell me,” he says, “iIf you don’t like it.”

I pull a very skeptical face at that but he shakes his head insistently. “You constantly give me chances to tell you how I feel a-about… _whatever_. It shouldn’t be different the other way around,” he rumbles stubbornly, his expression serious but gentle. But then he suddenly leans backwards, laying against the bed, his hands pulling me with him by the back of my thighs. I go down gracelessly, sprawled against his tight abdomen with a surprised little noise. He doesn’t say anything when I look up but he’s watching me carefully as he helps me position my legs on either side of him. Once my balance is settled straddling him, he pulls more and drags me up higher, until I’m perched ridiculously on his broad chest and I can feel an embarrassed flush rising rapidly in my cheeks, not understanding where such a weird position was going. Impatiently, his fingers were digging at the waist of my pants, sliding the fabric down as I go even redder and shift myself clumsily so that he can pull them all the way off and drop them carelessly somewhere..

I’ve got half of a question out of my mouth before one huge hand grabs me behind the knee and the other flattens against the small of my back. He half shoves, half lifts me up and higher and I realize what’s happening a second before it does.

Unbraced, my weight settles with my folded legs on either side of his skull and my ungainly, undignified noise of surprise melts raggedly into a loud, surprised moan as his mouth is already working at me. For an instant, I have the grace to be thankful we live in the middle of the woods and not anywhere close to where another human being can hear me make a fool out of myself. Partially out of nervousness and partially out of mortification I try to jerk upright but Muriel halts me, his hands snapping to my hips and holding me there. His grip is tight but not inescapable… As usual, he communicates better with actions over words and he’s asking me to let him try… It's incredibly embarrassing as he makes minor adjustments and it's hard to fight the flustered anxiety telling me to move away.

But then he figures out how exactly to position himself and his tongue slides along the edge of my entrance, hot and wet. The motions are exactingly typical of Muriel’s bedroom performance- not the most experienced technique in the world but any concerns about that are abruptly and wholly obliterated by how hard he’s willing to work, how into it he is, and how keyed in he is to every shift, every noise out of my stupid mouth. I’ve been fully converted by this stage and I’ll always find that more appealing.

His tongue is doing _something_ and his hands are constantly pressing and pulling at my hips, shifting my weight so that he can try different angles, different amounts of pressure… I’m absolutely wrecked with heat already and it’s hard to understand what exactly is happening and by this point I’m not really making any effort to resist how he moves me.

His tongue flattens and then laps at my clit and I’m trembling like I’m fevered- eyes glazed, mouth slack, I can’t even moan. He can tell that I’m enjoying myself and he pushes a little harder. He presses his lips to that tiny bundle of overactive nerves and sucks just hard enough to completely shut my brain down. I almost scream, throwing my head back and fucking forward with my hips, grinding against Muriel’s face.

He grunts and his grip tightens in an instant of possessive hunger. He keeps doing it and my hips bounce in a way that I can’t control. Mostly because I’m not really capable of higher function at this point. He doesn’t seem to care very much. He redoubles his efforts, his lips and tongue focused on that one tiny spot, his rough growls and grunts are undeniably aroused, and his hands firmly direct me where to go even as I jerk helplessly against him.

I’m a mess, I can’t think so I stop trying. Instead, I’m panting and jerking helplessly, eyes closed because the sensation is so acute, so strong that I can feel it lancing through my entire body. I’m not particularly proud of how long I last- it's not long _at all_ \- but complex concepts like that are kind of beyond me just then. Coming isn’t a slow build of heat this time. It’s hard and fast and hits me like a ton of bricks. One second I’m edging it, my body hot and tense and then the next I’m over, slow waves of pleasure making me roll my hips in time as Muriel lets out a satisfied, hungry noise and gives my oversensitive body a few more seconds of attention before he simultaneously releases my hips and I list to the side until I collapse against the soft bed.

He takes a second to adjust himself- his pants are tight against his insistent hard-on and his face is flushed dark. My vision’s still swimming sort of so it’s hard to tell if it was arousal, embarrassment, or simply the force of my not-insignificant weight rocking into his skull. Self consciousness rises in me and I throw my arm over my eyes for a second, still breathing heavily. A long moment passes and I can hear him shifting slightly (I notice yet again that his movements seem almost preternaturally quiet for someone so large, I find myself absently wondering how he picked up the skill). After another moment, I can feel the bed depress closer to my body and gentle fingers wrap around my wrist.

Carefully, Muriel lifts my arm off my face just high enough to be able to see my eyes. He’s flushed with arousal but his eyes are shy and a little curious. “You okay?” he asks lowly, searching my slack face for any clear signs of disapproval.

I reach clumsily and bump my lips against his stubbled, scarred jaw. “Of course I’m okay,” I manage a little sluggishly. “Where’d you learn how to do that?” My lips are quirked up into a slight smirk but my body’s still coming down off that high now and I”m feeling heavy and tired and still a bit flustered.

The sight of his cheeks reddening and his eyes averting in sudden self consciousness makes a rush of affection swell in me and he stumbles through a few different words before he can finally reply. “It's not that hard to figure out,” he deflects, looking away. “It's not like its astral sorcery or whatever.” He’s quiet for a few more drawn out seconds before he braces himself in a way that lets him carefully gauge my expression. “So then… it was… good?” he asks tentatively.

I make a face at him but can’t help the way my smirk broadens into a grin. “Tremendously. We should keep trying to compare.”

It takes him a second before he smiles and shakes his head, shifting his weight to sit up finally. “You… You still up for… um.” He pauses and looks away but I can see the back of his neck is boiling hot and the tips of his ears are bright red. I stare, waiting for him to continue. It takes a second before he manages to get the words out, his back tensing slightly with the discomfort. “You were going to… fuck me?” he finally finishes, making the statement turn up slightly at the end until it was a very embarrassed question.

I sit up quickly. I’d actually forgotten. By the time I can look up at his face, he can already tell by my mortified expression that I’d completely lost track of things and he snorts quietly to himself. I get the impression that he’s fighting to keep from laughing harder in a gentlemanly attempt to spare my ego but he’s only so successful.

“I’m _definitely_ up for it…” I blather stupidly, trying to look around and see if I’d need anything else to proceed. “Are you sure you want to try?”

“Trying… doesn’t sound too bad…” He struggles through the words and his self-consciousness but I get the meaning.

“Let’s try it, then,” I agree. “But make sure to say something if it’s no good. I don’t mind stopping so don’t worry about it.” I slide my fingers down the cut of his hip and into the waist of his pants and he jumps, hard. “You won’t need these, for starters.”

Red but undeniably enticed, he stands to remove them all the way, along with his belt. His movements are so utilitarian I almost want to laugh. His body is carved and powerful and it's so hard for me to grasp that he literally has zero concept of his own attractiveness. And while he’s uncomfortable with his looks because of his old trauma, he doesn’t really bat an eye at walking around half naked… like he’s so sure that he’s physically a monster that the amount of clothing he’s wearing couldn’t possibly change that.

He looks at me a little nervously and I finally look away to spare him the embarrassment. Though, upon second glance, he looks as though he’s waiting for me to tell him what to do and it prompts me into a nervous over-explanation. “I’m just gonna use a basic matter spell and… uh… customize it for our purposes. Just get comfortable…”

He makes no move to oblige for the moment and I wonder if he’s interested in the process… that’s fine by me, all things considered, but it does make my face heat. The spell itself is a simple thing to weave, even low-level casters can create material objects out of nothing. The trickier part is molding the matter to exact specifications or maintaining its form for extended periods of time without intense concentration.

For a second, light coalesces and then, maybe with less flashy magic than Muriel expected, the spell’s complete. The strap on is plain- lacquered, carved wood attached to a worn leather harness that fits me like a glove. Its size is nothing extraordinary, but what we’re doing certainly doesn’t require it.

“I expected something more… magic-looking, I guess.” Muriel remarks quietly after a second. “It looks like anything else you’d find at the Red Market.”

I pull a face. “I didn’t know you could buy toys like this down there,” I say with an innocently quirked eyebrow. “I can make it gemstone or gold or whatever but there’s no point, it’ll still feel the same. It looks like this because that’s just what I pictured.”

He shrugs and pointedly avoids my comment about the Red Market. I turn to retrieve a clay vessel of pressed oil from the kitchenette and set it down near the bed, about to tip off the ill-fitting lid when Muriel comes closer slowly- reminding me of a very wary cat succumbing to its innate curiosity. To my surprise he slinks in close enough to touch, brushing his fingers along the hard length curiously before his hand moves on to wrap gently around one of the straps. He pulls me in- very slowly, and very gently- though he avoids looking at my eyes as I watch him with some degree of bewilderment.

He seats himself at the edge of the bed and I have really no idea what he’s doing until he hunches forward until he’s bent at a low enough angle to compensate for the height difference- hesitates for an instant- and then gently pulls me in so can press his lips to the head of the carved cock and I freeze, blood rising to my face until I’m absolutely beet red. He moves on, taking a little more, sinking down some of it. Obviously, I can’t feel what he’s doing- even a magic fake cock is still fake- but the image of it is going to be seared on the back of my eyelids for a very long time. I’m too stupid just then to make words, just staring helplessly as he makes a (very tentative) show of it for a second before he pulls away and finally looks up at me expectantly.

“Where’d you learn that?” I ask but I’m panting like I just ran a mile and it's not a flattering look on me, I don’t think.

He purses his lips into that sexy little pout thing he does that he has no idea is sexy at all and I watch him flush a little deeper. “I don’t have much experience… but I do have… some. And I was almost always the one… in your position now,” he finally stammered out, his face practically glowing with heat. “It's just what happened beforehand, I don’t know.”

“Almost always,” I repeat thoughtfully. “Then this isn’t the first time?”

He looks mortified and (under that) kind of worried. “No,” he agrees after a second of hesitation but doesn’t deign to offer anything else.

That’s fine. I shrug and say as much. “Then you know what to expect at least. I’d like to have you face down, first, if that’s okay,” I tell him matter-of-factly, reaching for a pillow to position under his hips as he turns obediently if a little uncomfortably..

Fuck his back is amazing. It's such an idiotically inarticulate thought but I can’t help it. His shoulders are wide and heavy, his flesh warm and a little tense, and the dips and curves of each muscle stand out in stark contrast against the rest of the broad expanse. His ass is just too much to resist so I reach out to grope him with a surprising amount of force. He jumps and makes a noise but doesn’t turn to look back at me for the time being- his ears are getting ridiculously red, though.

It's getting a little hard to breathe with the prospect of what’s coming looming over me and I try to swallow my eagerness and maintain my (remaining) wits. “The only thing you need to worry about is trying to relax for me,” I tell him with confidence I don’t actually feel. I _haven’t_ done this before, and Muriel seemingly has. For a second I think of Asra and my recurring suspicions that they were closer than either of them lets on, at least periodically… But then I decide that I don’t really care and dribble some oil into my fingers.

I grip one of his flanks tightly enough to wrench another embarrassed little grunt out of him, pushing to spread him. He jumps with the slick pads of my fingers comb over his tender cleft, spreading cool oil on the skin there. The friction heats it quickly and I try to apply my attention to what I’m doing to keep from noticing his minute tenses and the way his breathing has quickened. I press and rub gently for a long minute, adding more oil and increasing the pressure until I can watch his thighs spasm every time the pads of my finger press against his tight little hole.

Finally, when I feel like I’ve lulled him into a hazy anticipation, I sink one finger into him carefully. He tenses up a little but it's not with pain and he folds his arms beneath his chest so he can hang his head and pant a little easier. I can see his back ripple with every touch and he’s shifting slightly to find a comfortable way to rest his hips given that his cock is trapped between his hard stomach and the pillows we crammed underneath him. For now, I let him worry about that and continue with what I’m doing.

A second finger joins the first- along with even more oil- and he _keens_. It low and deep and he barely moves beyond another languid tense. His whole body is flushed and his thighs keep tensing in a very distracting way that takes a disconcerting amount of brainpower to ignore for the immediate time being. I work at him gently but I try to keep the movements insistent, I’m impatient to move on. I sink them deep and run my oil-slick thumb along his flushed rim at the same time, spreading him slowly open and teasing with the sensation of more impending penetration.

The noises he’s making are absolutely inflaming, but they’re incredibly quiet. Truncated little gasps and grunts that he’s trying to swallow down before they can escape him at full volume. I wonder dazedly what he’s gonna sound like when I get this toy in him.

Finally, I position myself behind him after he takes a deep breath and I can feel him relax somewhat. “You look fucking ready,” I comment breathlessly as I pull my hand away to liberally slick the length of smooth, lacquered wood. “I’m… gonna fuck you. You still good?”

He grunts an affirmative, too embarrassed to speak or turn back to look at me. But he does slowly pull his knees underneath him. With his ass raised just enough and his face still on the bed, his back makes this tight, ridiculously attractive arch and his ridiculously attractive body is fully on display like this and I can only throb for a second.

When I can get my shit together I come in closer, standing on my knees to position the toy carefully before I start applying pressure. There’s resistance and he tenses beneath me (it's impossible to miss in his shoulders) but after holding for a second he lets out a breath and I’m able to sink into him partially. He refuses to turn his head so I have to go off of his ragged breathing… he’s tight and tense but he doesn’t seem to be in pain. I shift carefully, rolling my hips in shallow little strokes to test the waters, so to speak.

Erring on the side of caution, I pause to add more oil before I brace my knees and press deep, until I’m all the way into him and he’s taken all of it. His body ripples with each beat of his pulse and I give his muscular ass a quick pat to get his attention. I can barely talk, however, and my voice is so breathless that my words are slow and clumsy. “Still good?”

He nods but doesn’t answer and I only hold on for another second. The push-pull of my hips is forcibly steadied, and my hands move to grab his hipbones somewhat greedily. He takes it beautifully and now that he’s getting used to the pressure his body’s accepted the smooth wood even deeper. I reach around his hip and fumble blindly for his cock. We both hiss through our teeth at the feel- he’s hot and impossibly hard against my hand, his pulse throbbing tangibly in the huge member. I don’t jerk him off very fast, content to grope and overstimulate and my efforts are rewarded by an embarrassed little groan.

I stand up a little straighter, bracing my weight so that my thrusts are forcing Muriel downwards into the bed (or they would if my weight or strength were enough to influence how his much larger body is braced, anyway). The new angle brings an instant kind of electricity. The wooden implement is carved to stimulate and I’m starting to hit his prostate on each thrust. He tenses in time and more noises are forced up his throat. When he gingerly pushes back into my next thrust I moan- even without being able to feel it more meaningfully, the feel of his weight moving back into mine is enough to send a wave of heat over me. I pick up the pace again, unable to resist.

Now I know I’ve got him, his hands are back out in front of him and he adjust so he’s semi braced on his elbows- I can see that he has a haphazard pile of blankets and pillows at the mercy of his desperate grip and something about his noises makes me think he might be biting the pillow he’s got his face half buried in. And his _noises_ , fuck… He’s growling deeply, the sound coming up from somewhere deep in the pit of his chest and its feral to the core. The fine hair on my arms and on the back of my neck rise with it and… I think I might come from this. The sound is transparently aroused, not distressed or pained, and I watch his head droop a little as he continues to take it.

I press deep and hold, putting a powerful amount of pressure on his prostate and I can watch the tense ripple up his entire body, from his flanks to his fingers curled violently tight in the blankets. At the same time I give his thick cock a tight squeeze and (as a slightly mischievous afterthought) slot my thigh between his and put an assertive amount of pressure on his balls at the same time- nothing with intent to hurt, but I’m pretty sure the combination of stimulus will overload him and I’m eager to see what that looks like.

As usual, his performance doesn’t disappoint. He goes tight as a wire, every muscle brought out in stark contrast before his rocking stutters to a near-halt and his breathing cuts. I can feel him pulsing against my hand and I give him another gentle squeeze, encouraging him without words. Then he can’t hold out any longer and he lets out a rough, low groan. He tosses his head- I still can’t see his damn face- and his hips arch forward aggressively, fucking into my hand at a pace that makes my body throb jealously. I can hear his groan shift to an obscene moan that he tries to muffle through his pursed lips but he can’t stifle it.

I take a deep breath and move again, fucking him through it as his dick twitches in my hand, swelling even further before finally, on the fourth or fifth stroke he loses it with a rumbling purr. I still as he does, letting him melt back into the bed before staggering backwards onto my shaking legs. I disengage the spell and I’m left standing there and staring stupidly at his broad back while he attempts to save face and get himself together.

“That was-” we both manage at the same time. He pulls himself to his knees slowly and has to run a lazy hand through his wild hair to get it off his clammy forehead as he sits up.

“I don’t know about you,” I manage, going for my discarded pants, aggressively tangled in the bedsheets, “but I enjoyed that immensely.” Points for me for using a three-syllable word without stumbling just then, but it was a struggle.

He flushes all the way down to his carved chest, swallowing self consciously and trying to find any excuse to not look me in the face. “I…” he struggles, going redder by the second as he seems unable to come up with anything salient. “I like not having to worry about whether I’ll hurt you or not so…” he spits out in a jumble.

My head tilts, waiting for the rest of his verdict. When it doesn’t come I smile slightly in a way that I hope he finds reassuring and not mocking. “So… it was okay?”

He pauses for a second, his mouth an embarrassed little line, but then he nods. “I would be up for… more. At some point.”

I nod, satisfied at that and enthusiastically promise to deliver while he looks at the floor in a second of mortification.


	2. And Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene regarding what went down "last night". Mostly just heavy making out and then penetrative penis-in-vagina sex.

While I still initiate a lot of physical affection, when Muriel does it I’m usually rendered into a gibbering mess in short order. Frankly, it's embarrassing how easy it is for him to make me lose it but there’s nothing I can do and I’m fairly sure we both know it. I’d made tea after dinner last night and, feeling emboldened, he’d stopped on his way past me towards the kitchen, carefully cupped my jaw in his free hand (teacup in the other), and bent nearly in half to kiss me absolutely breathless while I just sat there with my hands half raised in surprise. His lips were so soft, his form maybe a little unpracticed but hungry and earnest and it absolutely flooded my whole body with heat. His tongue was insistent and hot and I distinctly remember being grateful I had been sitting down at the time.

He’d broken away after several excruciatingly pleasurable moments to stare down at me with that tiny smirk he sometimes gets and then deposed both teacups and the kettle back into the kitchenette. Frankly, I was fucking shellshocked and I just watched him do it, no smooth comments or suggestions on my part because I’m actually just as awkward as he sometimes is.

And while I am definitely hyperaware of how awkward me just sitting there probably was in the next minute or so, Muriel had come back and instead of smirking more at my boiling hot face decided to fully commit to making it worse. When his mouth descended on mine again, I was slightly more ready, kissing back furiously and reaching up to tangle my hands in his hair. He was still bent nearly double (I’m damn short and he’s damn tall), one large hand braced on the table and one sliding around my side to pull me in.

His whole body engulfs me, it's hard not to feel small in his arms. But then he straightens out and I refuse to let go so it pulls me to my feet, to the tips of my toes as I struggle to keep kissing him. One of his hands goes back to my face, fingers below my flaming red ear and his thumb rusting on the end of my chin. He pivots, steering me until my back presses against the stone wall and he leans in. His body is almost pressed against me, my nose a few scant inches from his sternum and I’m caged between his arms, corralled between the cold wall and his body. He’s so close that he can’t bend to kiss me like this and I flounder for a second, trying to figure out what words I should use to remind him of this.

But he takes my wrist and brings my hand closer to his mouth- first to brush his lips along my knuckles lightly, so lightly i can barely feel the drag of his stubbled chin against the flesh there. But then he shifts to kiss the pads of my fingers and heat is already flooding my guts in a molten rush. He makes eye contact for a second- his eyes are soft, almost obscenely so- but then he looks down a little shyly. And then, not shyly _at all_ , parts his lips to drag his tongue along the pads of my fingers in a small, gentle movement, followed by the delicate press and scrape of teeth.

I watch him, open mouthed and fascinated, standing there gormlessly while he makes a careful display of nipping my fingertip. His eyes flicker up to me again, his eyebrow quirked, asking permission to continue but my braincells are all shot at this point. He’s still wearing several straps around his torso and its really all I can do to grab one with the hand he’s not holding and tug impatiently. I need him so much I can barely breathe, stifling in our combined body heat.

He presses in all the way and I can feel his hardness pressing into my abdomen. I can’t help the gasp that it forces out of me and press a kiss to his solar plexus, my handing simultaneously tightening on the strap crossing his broad body.

“Is it okay if I…” he asks through a slight stutter, his face growing redder.

Something in me is incredulous at his shyness when he’s got me so riled up that I can’t imagine any way that it isn’t glaringly obvious. I don’t wait for him to finish. “Yes!” I return quickly, the monosyllabic answer falling from me in a breathless rush. “ _Yes_. Hurry up!”

He pulls a face and doesn’t move. I yank on the belt again but I can’t move him and we both know it. “I didn’t even say what it was.”

“Muriel, I’m going to die if you don’t get on with it,” I say with an impatient bite that I just can’t hide.

His eyebrows rise and his lips quirk into the tiniest of smirks that plainly say _If you’re sure_ and that’s fine with me frankly. It doesn’t stop the embarrassingly loud gasp from pouring out of me as he lifts me up by grabbing my thighs and pins me against the wall. God damn him, he’s a master at filing away my weaknesses for later, no matter how shy and embarrassed intimacy can make him. Our faces are level and he’s back to kissing me, only his mouth only stays on mine for just a minute. He quickly moves on, over the line of my jaw, the helix of my ear, the slope of my neck. His teeth follow the movements of his lips and tongue easily. They press and scrape and nip but they’re always gentle touches, he never bites, never marks. I bet he probably would if I asked him but I might explode, judging by how wild just making out can get me. Something to save for a rainy day, maybe.

His nose presses into the tender flesh of my throat as his teeth track over the dip of my collar and my body feels absolutely liquid and that I’m going to just fucking melt any second. “Think… think you could fuck me like this?” I ask with a nearly delirious little smile pulling at my flushed lips.

He pulls back to consider for a second, looking flushed as well. I faintly hope he’s getting as much out of this as I am. “Holding you up… isn’t hard,” he says after a second. I suppose that’s true, his arms are tight but he’s definitely not straining. I flush a little more, self consciously. “But uh… it would be better if you had more leverage. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Muriel is always concerned about that. I don’t think he will but I also don’t want to be dismissive of his anxiety. I shift in his arms a little until I can wrap my legs around his hips and I grind down roughly against the bulge at the front of his pants. His whole body starts and he makes a satisfying little noise, all hunger and heat. “Could be a lot of fun,” I manage, doing it again as Muriel staggers back from the wall, still holding me but now supporting the lower position that keeps the apex of my thighs pressed tightly to his cock. “Think about it and get back to me.” 

Muriel makes another hungry noise and I can feel him finally start to shudder with the effort of holding me up. “If I start thinking about it,” he manages with some exasperation, “it’ll turn into a full blown distraction.”

I make a loud theatrical scoff, rubbing down again and adjusting the angle of my legs. “Well if that happens you’ll just have to get it out of your system, won’t you.”

“You’re distracting enough,” he mutters quietly, and I can feel his fingers tightening on me greedily.

I’m having a hard time keeping up with the banter but I’ve always been mouthy and certainly can't be expected to stop now. “You’re a distraction!” I bite back stupidly.

He shifts again and in a blur of motion my throbbing body can’t keep up with, I find myself gently bent over the table, smooth wood pressed into my front and my hands splayed out in front of me.

“I want…” he struggles, trying to broadcast his intentions. “I’m gonna…” His fingers curl in the waist of my trousers but he waits for my approval. His breathing is ragged behind me and I can’t help but squirm impatiently.

“You _better_ ,” I manage to choke out, breathing hard and dying for it at this point.

He laughs- a loud, earnest laugh- and pulls the fabric down until its well out of his way. I can hear him unbuckling belts and dropping fabric to the floor behind me but I don’t turn around. Actually my toes are just barely skimming the slate floor so I can’t get the leverage to brace myself and stand anyway.

When thick fingers brush up between my thighs I moan, loudly, and another shot of heat unfurls in my belly. Even with my legs tensed I can’t really stand on them but Muriel doesn’t seem to notice or care as he expends most of his attention petting me gently before a finger gets pushed inside.

I make another loud, undignified noise and my forehead thunks back onto the smooth surface. I can feel him watching me, waiting for signs that he can move on. I almost hate how thorough he is because all I really want right then is to get fucked until I can’t walk. Whatever sign he was looking for comes to him and he adds a second finger. The stretch is excruciatingly pleasurable and my toes curl at the feel of it. After several excruciatingly slow minutes, a third finger joins the first two and I’m being stretched open in earnest now.

“You’ll tell me… if it’s too much, right?” Muriel asks. It's not really a question, though. It's a reminder that he still struggles with the vulnerability of intimacy and his trust that I won’t let him hurt himself by hurting me. It's a complicated situation, I suppose, but empathy is a free commodity and I care about him so much it makes my chest ache. If that’s what he needs then that’s what I’ll give him.

I agree impatiently, my whole body rippling with his movements. When he removes his fingers and replaces them by pushing the head of his thick cock against me, I let out a shaky, wanting breath. One of his hands goes to my hips not so much to pin me there but more to give himself leverage as he begins to push into me.

It takes several long seconds- the longest seconds I think I’ve ever experienced- before he’s mostly in me. Slowly- so goddamned slowly- he begins to work up to an easy pace, thrusting shallowly and letting me get used to it. It absolutely takes me apart and I struggle to force him to go faster. Unfortunately, there’s fuck all i can do. My feet aren’t on the ground, I’m laying on my stomach and he’s keeping my hips firmly on the table. I suddenly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

I lift my head to look over my shoulder and bite my lip. He’s looking straight at me and while he’s flushing something powerful, there’s something in the line of his lips thats getting close to being a fully-fledged smirk. He pulls out so slow I let out a strangled sob, the head of his cock pulling at my entrance just fractionally. He is doing it on purpose, his lips quirk again. Bastard! I continue to squirm ineffectually and with an easy, meaningless adjustment, Muriel pushes forward slowly.

He fills me, there seems to be no end to him. I’m stretched tight and he bottoms out and I can’t see or hear anything in that moment beyond my own needy panting and the vague pattern of woodgrain in front of my face. He pulls out. Then pushes back again, and I nearly lose control of my voice.

“Still okay?” he asks quietly and I babble a rush of affirmatives at him, peppered liberally with a few crass curse words and demands to hurry the hell up.

Somewhat satisfied by that, he builds up to speed but keeps an absolutely methodical pace. He’s not fast or rough but he pulls almost the whole way out before pushing all the way back into me, bottoming out on every stroke. The pressure is mind melting but so slow I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I jerk and twitch on each thrust desperate for more and the noises I’m making now are distinctly pleading. I vaguely feel that, like biting, I could probably convince Muriel to do this to me with the intent of making me cry for his dick (I’m about to do it now, actually) with some gentle coaxing but I’m only interested in that shit if he finds it fun and I feel like it’ll be a while before that point still.

Fingers stroking gently back between my legs prompt another noise out of me and the surprise additional stimulation is making my squirming take on a distinctly more frantic air. Two fingers rub slow circles over my clit and I can’t withstand it- I sag against the table, helpless and focused only on the feel of him, the heat between my legs slowly swelling through my own body.

The dual stimulus is way too much. Orgasm builds and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. The sensation builds to a fever pitch- his fingers petting my clit while his cock steadily dives into me only intensifies the whole ordeal and I’m choking down an array of noises through gritted teeth as my whole body succumbs to powerful throbbing and waves of pleasure. His fingers stay on my clit the whole time, pushing and stroking and delivering powerful aftershocks that make my brain melt. Almost immediately after the first, a second orgasm causes my whole body to ripple helplessly and I let out a stuttering little sigh. Muriel’s moving harder behind me and i make no protest. I’m worn out, exhausted from our “activities” and I can’t work my legs enough to lift myself up. I can feel him lose his careful cadence and he begins thrusting shallower but faster, his breathing is clipped and ragged. Faintly, I wish I had the coordination to turn around and watch his abdomen work as he pumps into me but I can’t manage it.

He comes in a rush with a soft vocalization that’s easy to miss. When I’m able to scrape together the braincells, I realize Muriel’s backed away as well and I can hear the sound of water as he moves to the bucket in the corner. Gingerly, I managed to push back and stand up, a little wobbly legged, and hold onto the table for support.


End file.
